


Duscha

by flammablehat



Series: March Madness Personal Challenge! [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Animal Death, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Offscreen death of a pet, Pets, Stand Alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 05:57:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10075328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flammablehat/pseuds/flammablehat
Summary: The only way out of grief is through it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Day 3 of the [fluffy prompt post](http://rougherandtumblier.tumblr.com/post/157838391955/30-fluff-tropes): animal adoption.
> 
> Please don't shank me.

Viktor asks to go alone.

His eyes are hollow when he comes back. Yuuri hovers, reaching out, but Viktor shrugs away from the touch. 

He stands in the foyer for a moment, squeezing Makkachin’s leash and collar in his fist, face turned down and away from Yuuri. 

“Please,” he finally says, faint. 

Yuuri drops his hand, and doesn’t follow when Viktor walks into the bedroom and quietly closes the door behind him.

***

“How old was he?” Mari asks.

“Thirteen.” Yuuri’s sitting on the balcony of Viktor’s apartment, rolling a chewed up old tennis ball around with his foot. “Osteosarcoma. He was in a lot of pain.” 

“That’s awful,” Mari says. Yuuri can hear her take a drag on a cigarette through the phone, probably standing out back of the onsen. 

“I don’t know what to say to him,” Yuuri admits. 

“It’s never easy,” Mari says. “At least he got to be there for him, in the end.” 

Yuuri nods, even though she can’t see it. Part of his heart still hurts whenever he thinks about Vicchan, a bruise that’s never fully gone away. It throbs now, like he’s been prodding where it’s tender after leaving it alone to heal for so long.

***

Yuuri finally persuades Viktor to take a shower and surreptitiously checks his phone when the water starts running. Eighteen missed calls from Yakov and a single unread text from Yuri in Cyrillic that Yuuri can’t parse. There’s a heart emoji at the end, of all incongruous things.

Yuuri puts Viktor’s phone back on the side table next to Makkachin’s collar.

***

“I feel like I betrayed him.”

Yuuri looks up from his book, surprised. He folds the corner of the page down and sets it aside when Viktor reaches for his hand. 

Viktor stares straight ahead at the opposite wall, his throat working for a second. Yuuri squeezes his fingers. 

“He didn’t know. What was happening,” Viktor says. His eyes have gone red and damp, and he looks up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath. “But I did. What if… what if he wouldn’t have wanted it? What if he would have preferred to—” He drops his face into his free hand, shoulders shaking. 

“Oh, Viktor,” Yuuri says, feeling his own eyes go hot. “Makkachin loved you. He knew you were with him the whole time. You made his last moments safe, and—and peaceful.” 

Viktor makes a strangled noise, curling in around his stomach like he’s been stabbed. His hold on Yuuri’s hand is painfully tight, and Yuuri tugs until he relents, slumping into Yuuri’s arms. 

“Shhh,” Yuuri breathes, running his fingers through Viktor’s hair. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I know it hurts.” 

Viktor’s sobs are wrenching, jagged things, forcing their way out of his body in a miserable torrent. Yuuri holds him, crying quietly into Viktor’s hair, tangled up in sympathy and the echo of his own loss. 

Later, when the grief has slowed its hemorrhaging and he’s caught his breath, Viktor whispers, “What if I forget him? What if… I lose him for good?” 

Yuuri takes Viktor’s face in his hands and looks him in the eyes, thumbs stroking over his temples. “That will never happen,” he promises, fierce. 

Viktor nods, more tears spilling down his cheeks, and sinks back against Yuuri’s chest.

***

“I don’t want to do this,” Viktor says.

They’re standing in the parking lot — they didn’t even make it to the sidewalk. 

“I think it will help,” Yuuri says, pointedly neutral. Viktor shrugs, a small, angry gesture that Yuuri’s getting more familiar with than he’d like. “Fine.” Yuuri sighs, pulling the keys back out of his pocket. 

“Nevermind,” Viktor says abruptly, retreating into an equally familiar and unwelcome coolness. “Let’s get it over with.” 

Yuuri follows him inside, worried that it’s the wrong move, the wrong timing. That Viktor’s not ready, and he’ll resent Yuuri for his interference. Maybe he only needs more time, but Yuuri is… well. Worried. 

Volunteering had been Minako’s idea. Yuuri knows her heart’s in the right place, but wonders at the wisdom of such a suggestion. Viktor’s a charitable person, but he’s never had the time to be the volunteering type. 

It is loud inside. The manager on duty gives them a tour — first past a glass-walled room with an impressive little city of carpet and twine-covered architecture, almost every surface occupied with a sleek or fuzzy cat or kitten. Yuuri takes a quick picture and texts it to Yuri, grinning at the string of exclamation points he receives seconds later.

Through a door they find a room filled with rows upon rows of kennels. Each little cubicle has a bed that looks like a tiny, rectangular trampoline, and a water and food dish. Some of the kennels are empty, but most are occupied by dogs who rush up to their glass-front doors to see the people walking by. 

Viktor half stops in the doorway, then carries on before Yuuri can catch his eye. 

Yuuri’s ready to call it quits when they’re introduced to a current volunteer and Viktor can’t even be bothered to come over and say hi. He looks around, exasperated, and finds Viktor has stopped in front of a kennel several feet back from their little party. 

Wary, Yuuri falls back to see what Viktor’s staring at. 

The sign on her door says she’s a year old and was surrendered by a family who moved and couldn’t take her with them. She’s some kind of mutt, with large, soft, triangle-shaped ears and ruddy, slightly curly fur. 

Yuuri is fairly certain it isn’t her coloring or her age that has caught Viktor’s attention so much as the way she sits with her head down, snout tucked against her chest.

“May I see her?” Viktor lifts his head, looking for the manager. 

Nonplussed, the man gestures at the door, which is held closed with a latch but no lock. 

Carefully, Viktor lets himself into her kennel, stilling as she cowers back into the corner with her bed. 

Yuuri watches, heart in his throat, as Viktor slowly closes the door and sinks to the ground against the far corner of the kennel, heedless of his absurdly expensive designer trousers. 

It takes several long moments for her curiosity to overtake her fear. She picks her way to Viktor’s side, sniffing first at the gloved hand resting on his knee, then at his shoulder, and then at his face. 

“Hullo,” Viktor says, softly. 

She cocks her head. Then she licks his nose.

***

They name her Duscha. 

**Author's Note:**

> I know this project comes from a post about happy, fluffy tropes, but this was the story that wanted to be written. Shout-out to our pets, in particular Winston and Mackie, who I still miss dearly. 
> 
> Duscha is a name I found while googling for common Russian pet names. According to the site I found it on, Duscha means ghost, or divine spirit. I thought it was fitting. 
> 
> Come talk to me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/rougherandtumblier)!


End file.
